Struggle from under the rubble

By Majeda Al-Saqa

The protection paradox: operating during a genocide

What does protection mean to us? Is it merely an abstract idea, a distant concept we discuss but fail to act upon? Or is it, as it should be, an active process—a persistent effort to stop harm before it happens. 

What has anyone truly done to stop the harm?

Will prevention finally happen? Or will we continue to fail those who rely on us for protection?

Will we rise to the challenge,

When my colleague Ali pulled his 14-year-old daughter Afnan from the rubble after 36 hours, he didn’t stop to grieve. He buried his wife and son, took his daughter to safety and then came to work. This is the reality of protection work in Gaza.

For the past 16 months, in full view of the world, Palestinians in the Gaza Strip have been subjected to acts of genocide on an unimaginable scale, and it continues today.

Providing protection to our people under these circumstances has been nearly impossible – especially when nowhere was safe, when even shelters became targets, and when those dedicated to safeguarding others were themselves under attack. We have been enduring the many forms of this genocide in different cycles and through each cycle, the nature of our being, role and action as human beings and activists has also taken different forms.

 

Immediate protection response: building shelters, community resilience

During the first months, from the moment this genocide began to unfold, our team at Culture and Free Thought Association (CFTA) sprang into action. On the 13th of October, we opened our offices and centres, converting them into shelters for families displaced from the relentless bombardment of Gaza City and the north. These were not just shelters; they were spaces of protection, dignity and resilience for every individual we serve. Over 550 families found refuge in our shelters - women, children, older people and persons with disabilities.

This effort relied on each and every one of us coming together, hand in hand, to contribute to the management of our shelters. Initially, our community comprised colleagues from various civil society organisations, along with their families - both local and international. Soon, our support extended to other displaced families. Together, we defined roles, set rules and assigned responsibilities, harnessing the unique skills of each individual at the shelters. We established a community kitchen, a common room filled with books and entertainment, a working hub, an educational space for children, a small clinic, and even a safe spot for pets.  There were people in charge of the supplies store, maintenance, managing water and buying food, and a protection committee formed from the families themselves, to protect the location and each person in it, making sure everyone felt safe and respected.

This lasted until around January 2024, when the ground incursion reached Khan Younis, forcing us to evacuate our three established shelters to new locations in the so called “safe zone”. We set up these new shelters only to be forcibly displaced again a few months later, as the Israeli Occupation Forces moved their tanks into those areas we were told were safe, and began shelling there too.

 

Protection while under attack: undeterred commitment despite tragic loss

As the mass, indiscriminate attacks on us persisted, we did what we could to survive and try to protect our people, even while suffering great losses. All of us lost colleagues, friends and loved ones. No one was spared. We never had the chance to properly mourn 7 of our staff members at CFTA, most of whom were killed with their entire family.  Some of our team were injured, one of our nurses was arrested and almost all of us were displaced, many now, with no homes to return to. We would come to work on donkey carts or by walking miles in dangerous circumstances to continue our work even when some of our donors stopped funding us. Yet, we did not stop working, not even for a moment. Because for us, protection is not a job. It is not about salaries. It is about dignity, commitment, and an unshakable belief in our people and our cause.

I will share the words of my colleague Marwa, our pharmacist. Her 10-year-old daughter was murdered, then a month later, her husband and mother too. She came back to work, saying, "Work is my healing process."

 

Then there is the story of my colleague Mahmoud, who was badly injured and suffered the loss of his four daughters: 10 year old Mairna, 8 year old Yasmia, 5 year old Janah  and 4 month old Reemi. His wife, Haneen remains in a critical condition with little hope she will get out for the needed treatment. Despite all this, Mahmoud continued to work with communities to rebuild - working on facilitating access to water, rehabilitation, distribution and so on.  

As for our nurse Alla, who was arrested with her sister while evacuating from Gaza to the south. On her release after 40 days, she directly called to say she is ready to join the team at work.

I am really amazed by the strength and determination that we all have. Imagine continuing to go to work 7 days a week while our colleagues are being slaughtered, one after the other. Whether it was our colleague Dana, one of our lawyers, a newly married bride, pregnant, who was killed with her husband and all his family, including the baby inside her. Or our colleague Alla, who was martyred with all her family leaving behind a baby boy Ahmed who is 7 months old. It is often assumed that protection workers do not need protection themselves, as international humanitarian law is meant to safeguard them. But in this genocide, those norms were shattered - our colleagues were not spared, our shelters were not safe, and we carried out our work while facing the same dangers as those we were trying to protect.

Expanding protection, despite every obstacle

We experienced all this sorrow and loss day in, day out, but we had to go on, as there were lives to be saved, childhoods that were threatened, and people in particularly vulnerable situations who needed us. There was no choice, we had to go on. So we continued and nothing could stop us from expanding our response and interventions over the past months.

We continued to have shelters, we continued to open clinics, educational sites and ‘safer’ spaces. We supported different community led initiatives with Mahmoud and Ali and my other colleagues who survived. At CFTA, we always carry out our work with our community to bring the best out of them, to support and strengthen them. This genocide has brought many things to a crushing halt but not our approach.

We are now focusing a lot on supporting those who have returned to their obliterated homes and neighbourhoods in Rafah, the eastern villages, and in Gaza City and the north. When hundreds of thousands of Palestinians began marching back to their homes through the different routes of return, we stood in the streets with our mobile clinics, psychologists, volunteers, artists and members of the Protection Network to support a safer way back for them.

We are spontaneous and quick responders because our actions are not driven by donor agendas nor are they projects based. Not at all. It is because we believe in what we do, we love what we do and we are passionate about it. We do it for our people in Gaza, and for our beloved Palestine.

 

Ending the status quo and breaking the blockade on protection

The greatest obstacle to protection in the Gaza Strip right now and in the future, is not a lack of aid - it is the deliberate restriction of our fundamental rights. Protection is impossible under occupation, blockade, under bombardment, under impunity. What we need today from those who are in power is affirmative action to end this ongoing genocide and ethnic cleansing, to respect our rights and to ensure justice is served.

Lifting the blockade is not about how many trucks are entering Gaza or how many dual use items are accepted to enter. It is about our right to dignified mobility and free access in and out of the Gaza Strip. Occupation has to end, the blockade has to end and we as people, as students, as patients, as travellers must have the ability to exercise our right to move in and out freely. Patients should be able to receive treatment and return home safely. Young people should have the chance to see the world beyond these walls, to dream and grow without limits. Even those who simply want to take a normal holiday should have the right to leave - and to come back. No people, anywhere on earth, should ever be caged up.

For those of you who care about our protection, know this - Palestine is not humanitarian case. Palestine is a just cause of people who yearn for freedom, human rights and the end of settler colonialism of our land.

The people who committed genocide in Gaza and continue to commit genocide in the West Bank must be stopped. They must be held accountable. They must be brought to justice. There can be no more impunity for these aggressors. These are crimes against humanity and no one with a conscience should tolerate them.

We need the re-construction of our beloved Gaza to start right now, but with the people of Gaza and by the people of Gaza. We don’t want solutions to be imposed on us – this must be Palestinian-led. We need to rebuild our homes, towns and communities and through it, build and regain our lost lives and hopes. We need security to be able to have our lives back and to mourn our losses and process what we went through, and begin our healing journey.

 

Voices from the grave – why we must be heard

I would like to close with the story of Zenat. When she first came to CFTA, she was a 6 year old child at one of our centres. She grew up with us and became a brilliant young woman with great talents in drawing and paintings. Zenat graduated from the art university and become one of our colleagues at CFTA. She decided to work at the safe space which we established for children with autism and girls with learning disabilities. When the Israeli tanks surrounded Khan Younis, Zenat was trapped with her family in her home. She was pleading for help hours after hours, and days after days until we did not hear from her. Nobody could reach her home at the time of her appeals. After 50 days, when the tanks left the area, she was found martyred with her whole family.

Protection is, at its core, about people - their dignity, their rights and their survival. Zenat’s story, and the stories of Ali, Mahmoud, Marwa, and countless others, must be told. And someone has to tell them. Not just to honour their memories but to demand justice for them. We owe them at least this.